by Dawn Atkins
The waiting area held low, modern furniture in neon green and yellow, a sleek table and a spiky palm in a tall vase. From the table she picked up a copy of the annual report to read over, then watched a few seconds of the promotional video running on a huge flat-screen TV.
She headed for the front desk. The receptionist was on the phone. Waiting for her to finish, Tara took in the two huge oil portraits on the wall behind her. The first was of Tara’s grandfather. The brass nameplate at the bottom identified him as the company’s first CEO and gave his birth and death dates. Next to him was her father, who’d taken over the plant in 1985 at age forty-five, having worked his way up from the factory floor—Whartons earn their place in this world, he’d always said.
His father’s nameplate was missing. With a jolt, she realized they’d sent it to be engraved with his death date.
Tara leaned against the counter to steady herself. She was never ready for these jolts when they hit.
She sighed. Whose painting would appear beside her father’s? Who would take over as CEO? Faye, if she recovered. Please recover. Please. Certainly not Joseph. He didn’t strike her as a leader. One of the other VPs, she guessed. Offering recommendations on the new CEO might well be one of her tasks as a consultant. The idea was hard to consider, with Faye’s life hanging in the balance.
Her plan was to look around in Faye’s office and her father’s if possible, then drop in on the meeting an hour before lunch to ask about her tour. Sitting through some of the meeting she’d get a feel for the power players. If a tour wasn’t possible today, she’d talk to employees in the cafeteria and stop by managers’ offices for informal chats and generally take the temperature of the place.
The receptionist ended her call and smiled up at Tara. “Can I help you?” She hesitated. “Oh! You’re Mr. Wharton’s other daughter.... You’re...um...”
“Tara.”
“That’s right. Tara. Nice to finally meet you. How is Ms. Banes? Everyone is so worried about her.”
“She’s stable. We’re hoping for the best.”
“We are, too. We really are.” She paused, biting her lip. Tara assumed lots of employees were worried. She accepted the visitor badge the receptionist gave her, then took the winding wood stairs instead of the elevator, to enjoy the sun on her arms and the view of the river through the huge windows.
From the second-floor landing she surveyed the row of offices—empty and dark, since the managers were in the third-floor meeting room. Carol looked up from her desk behind a low fabric wall in front of what must be Faye’s office. She smiled and waved Tara over. “I snitched the key to your father’s office, too,” she whispered. “His secretary takes notes in the meeting.”
“Good work,” Tara said.
Carol opened the door to Faye’s office and they entered. Tara was transfixed by the art on the walls—whimsical collages of words and drawings incorporated into blueprint grids. “Faye’s work, huh?” Tara said.
“She’s very talented.”
“She is.” Tara realized her mother hadn’t put a single one of Faye’s paintings in the house. It didn’t fit with the decor, of course, but the real problem was that neither of their parents had respected Faye’s talent. That had always irked Tara, whose first act whenever she moved was to hang the piece Faye had made for her. She wanted another painting in her condo. If Faye recovered... When she recovered, Tara would ask about that.
While they waited for Faye’s computer to boot, Tara flipped through Faye’s paper files, the notebooks on her desk with quarterly reports, audits, the budget, cost and quality analyses, and a strategic plan—all standard for someone in Faye’s position.
When they turned back to the computer, Carol frowned. “There’s a password now.”
“That’s new?”
“Yes. Faye didn’t want the hassle.”
“Who would have put it on?”
“Probably Mr. Banes asked our IT guy to do it to keep me from snooping.” She sighed.
Or to hide something he wanted no one to know.
“The IT guy can override it for you, but I don’t know if he’d do it without Mr. Banes’s okay.”
“We’ll leave that for now,” she said, frustrated as hell and dying to know what Joseph wanted kept secret.
Her father’s office was neat as a pin, his computer password-protected like the one at home. She looked through the folders in his desk drawers, thinking she might find the missing ones from home, but they were all business-related, as far as she could tell. The file cabinet was locked. “That’s Lisa’s doing,” Carol said. “She gets very officious because he’s the CEO.”
That was that, Tara realized. She’d learned nothing useful, except that Joseph had likely locked down Faye’s computer. On to the next part of her plan...where she hoped for more luck.
CHAPTER TEN
TARA REACHED THE TOP of the stairs to the conference room just as the elevator doors opened and out stepped...
“Dylan!” Heat bloomed in her face at how glad she was to see him. “What are you doing here?”
He raised the stack of stapled pages he held. “I’m on the agenda. You?”
“Popping in to meet the managers, maybe get a tour.”
“You mean snoop around?” he whispered behind his hand.
“We call it observing workplace dynamics, but, okay, snooping.”
“It’s nice to see you,” he said, his gaze sweeping over her with appreciation. “You look good. Very professional...and...good. Very good.”
“Thanks.” She’d worn a conservative gray suit and white silk blouse, but Dylan looked her over like she about to do a striptease around a pole. Her face had to be bright red. She felt feverish. “Thanks for dinner last night.”
“Yeah. It was fun.”
“Fun. Yes. It was that.” And so much more. She flashed on the kiss, the fire in his eyes. She’d felt so alive, so desired, so—
“We should go in,” he said, breaking the gaze.
“We should. Will I make you nervous if I sit in on your remarks?”
“You’ll make me nervous, but not about my remarks.” He ran his eyes down her body again, sending sparks everywhere his gaze landed, then leaned past her to hold the door open.
Everyone at the conference table—all men but one, Tara noticed—looked up as they entered. A second woman sat away from the table typing in a laptop. Lisa the secretary, she assumed.
“Tara!” Joseph lurched to his feet, looking alarmed.
“I stopped in for that tour,” she said. “I wanted to say hello. I ran into Dylan in the hall.”
Joseph smiled queasily. “Everyone, this is Tara Wharton, Faye’s sister.” He stopped, as if that was it.
“Could you introduce me?” she asked politely.
He sighed, resigned to the delay, then went around the table, giving names and titles, ending with Miriam Zeller, the Human Resources manager. “Miriam gives the tours. Miriam, would you mind?”
“Of course.” Miriam rose, smiling in her direction.
“Let’s wait until the lunch break,” Tara said. “I’ll sit in, if that’s okay.”
Joseph clearly wanted her gone. “We’ve arranged for Mr. Ryland to speak to us, so we really should—”
“I’m happy to have her listen in,” Dylan said, backing Tara’s play. “Maybe you could pass these out?” He held out the stack of paper to her, his eyes twinkling in conspiracy.
As she handed out the last packet, her phone vibrated. Seeing the insurance agency’s name, she ducked out to take the call.
It was a secretary telling her the adjuster would not be available that day and, no, she didn’t know where the car might be. Another damn delay. Fuming, Tara returned to the meeting just as Dylan asked if there were questions.
“Yeah, I’ve got one,” Carl Goodman said. The factory manager wore a suit that he didn’t seem comfortable in. He’d dressed up for the meeting, which meant corporate offices had more prestige than the factory. Interes
ting. “What are you going to do about the backup on production?”
Dylan responded calmly, explaining that Ryland employees were working overtime to boost output. That seemed to appease Goodman.
Dylan took more questions, sounding knowledgeable and trustworthy, making eye contact all around the table. He was good, a natural leader, and Tara was reminded again how impressive he’d been in high school. She felt a surge of attraction. He’d probably do wonders for Wharton once he could give the town his full attention.
After he’d finished speaking, he thanked everyone and turned for the door, giving Tara a wink as he left. She went hot all over. From a wink, for God’s sake. She felt like she had some girlish crush on a rock star.
Mentally shaking that off, she tuned in to the dynamics of the meeting. It wasn’t going well. Joseph was clearly uncomfortable being in charge. He allowed the same point to be made repeatedly, cut off productive discussions and managed to annoy nearly everyone. There were simple techniques she could teach him for fixing that. She was champing at the bit to try.
The informal leader seemed to be Davis Mann, the VP of Manufacturing. When a question came up, they all looked to him. He oversaw the factory operations and was Carl Goodman’s boss. She needed to touch base with him for sure before she left Wharton today.
At noon, catering brought in a sandwich buffet. As people got their food, Tara moved from person to person, asking questions and listening closely to the answers as well as the interpersonal dynamics. She caught Davis Mann alone in the hall and arranged to stop by his office to talk after her tour.
At the end of the break, Miriam Zeller approached her. “Ready for that tour?”
“I don’t want to keep you from the meeting.” Women managers in a mostly male workplace had to work hard to stay in the loop.
“They’ll tread water from here on out. To tell you the truth, I’m happy to escape the tedium.”
As they headed for the elevator, she asked Miriam how she felt about being the only woman on the management team, mentioning the experiences of women she’d worked with. That started them off with a nice rapport and gave Tara a chance to explain what she did for a living.
Getting off at the second floor, they moved toward the back stairs to the factory, passing offices as they went. As they passed the bookkeeping department, a woman rushed out, stopping just before she plowed into Tara. It was Candee, Dylan’s ex-wife.
“Oh. Hi,” Candee said. “You’re Tara.”
It took her a second to respond. Why hadn’t Dylan mentioned Candee worked for Wharton? “I am.”
“Candee Ryland,” Candee said sharply, evidently assuming Tara’s delayed response meant Tara didn’t know her name.
“Yes. I know. Dylan told me...” What? She flipped through what she knew about Dylan’s ex-wife...they’d slept together since the divorce...she’d left him because she thought he still loved Tara...she’d sold him cookware he didn’t use...given him a recipe for beer-butt chicken... None of that seemed appropriate. “Who you are,” she finished lamely.
“Yeah?” Her voice spiked. “Well, he told me who you are, too, so we’re even.” She seemed to reconsider her tone. “What I mean is—”
“I know what you mean,” Tara said, cutting her off in an effort to smooth the moment. Instead she’d sounded rude.
“Perfect,” Candee snapped. “If you’ll excuse me.” She stalked away.
Miriam politely didn’t ask what that was about. Tara had stepped in it again, her people skills in tatters in this town.
Miriam led Tara along a catwalk overlooking the factory floor, which seemed to sparkle with cleanliness. Fluorescent lights made the white cement floor gleam. Ventilators roared, pulling the highly flammable aluminum dust from the air, according to Miriam.
The section of the factory where the battery cells were built contained glassed-in machines like giant tollbooths lined in rows, control panels flashing colored lights. Workers there wore white suits, hairnets, paper slippers and gloves to keep down static.
In the assembly area, robotic arms and hydraulic lifts made rhythmic whoosh and clunk sounds as they put together cells, then loaded boxes of batteries onto a conveyor belt to be prepared for distribution. Workers here wore golf shirts and jeans or khakis, and she spotted Carl Goodman, minus coat and tie, talking to a technician. He’d abandoned the meeting for more important duties, she assumed.
Miriam rattled off stats on the size of the operation, units produced, the specifics of the new Wharton battery, which used nanotechnology and complicated chemicals to make lighter, faster-charging and more powerful batteries.
After that, they looked in on the R&D lab, the cafeteria and the loading dock, ending up on the tarmac waiting for a technician from the testing area—the last stop on the tour—to pick them up in an electric cart.
“I’m very impressed,” Tara said.
“I know. So am I. At our price point, we’re poised to sweep the market. If everything comes together as we hope.” There was tension in her voice.
“I’m sure losing my father and Faye has made people uneasy. The managers seemed pretty wired.”
“That was Joseph’s first time running the meeting,” she said diplomatically. “I’m sure that’s what you picked up.”
“It was more than that, I think,” she said. “I understand there have been rumors of another layoff. I was told you lost a few engineers, too.”
Miriam gave her a wary look. “There are always personnel shifts during a transition.”
“You don’t have to hold back, Miriam. I’m on your side. I want Wharton Electronics to succeed.” Tara liked her and hoped she’d be an ally. “The truth is that Faye contacted me a few weeks ago about doing some consulting here.”
“She did?” Miriam blew out a breath. “That’s great. Joseph means well, but I’m afraid he’s a bit over his head.”
“That was my impression. I need him to hire me, so I wanted to lay some groundwork, if I could, with key people, especially those whose opinion he respects. I wondered about Davis Mann...?”
“Davis is great, very big picture in his thinking. Managers pay attention to what he says. The trouble is he intimidates Joseph.”
“I see.”
“Joseph listens to Evan Moore. You met him. He’s the Research & Development VP. You might want to spend some time with him. Squeeze in some observations between his lectures on the projects they’re working on. Just caring enough to listen will make him love you.”
“I’ll do that. Anyone else?”
“Our general counsel, Marvin Levy. His office is next to Faye’s. Legal stuff scares Joseph, so he listens to Marvin with both ears. Marvin’s smart, practical and thoughtful.”
“I’ll talk to him.”
“I sound like I’m scheming against Joseph, but I’m not. He’s good at his job. He’s just not equipped to run Wharton. This is a good company. I don’t want to see it fail.”
“Neither do I, believe me.”
Miriam studied Tara, then seemed to make a decision. “If Faye wanted you to work for us, then so do I. I’ll talk to the other managers on your behalf.”
“I appreciate that.” Assuming she made good impressions on the attorney and the research VP, Miriam’s help could set her up well for turning Joseph around. That filled her with energy and hope, something she’d been missing since she arrived.
A cart pulled up and Miriam introduced her to the driver—Matt Sutherland, assistant testing manager—a handsome man in his early thirties who colored when Tara smiled at him.
As they drove toward the testing area, which looked like a cross between an airplane hangar and a giant auto shop, Matt rattled off the kinds of testing they did—current consumption, output voltage levels, electrical noise, response time and more she didn’t quite understand.
He parked outside the steel door and led her inside. To the left was a glassed-in office, followed by units of equipment with dials, meters and flashing lights. Across the space s
he saw cars with their hoods up, some hooked up to hoses and wires. A car’s engine roared as its wheels spun against steel rollers. The air smelled of rubber and hot metal.
Matt explained they used various stimulus inputs—acceleration, temperature, wheel rotation—to ensure the battery module behaved as it should. “Very impressive,” she told him, making him blush again.
“We’re pretty proud of it,” he said. “You should meet the boss.” He led her to the office, where she saw Dylan talking to a tall gaunt man with salt-and-pepper hair wearing a blue jumpsuit.
“Dylan,” she said when he noticed her. “We meet again. I swear I’m not stalking you.”
“I’m not sure I believe that.” He gave her that look again and it made her nerve endings throb.
“We ran into each other earlier,” she explained to Matt, guessing she had blushed redder than he had.
“We’re old friends,” Dylan said, holding her gaze.
“From high school,” she blurted, not quite able to pull away.
“Jeb Harris,” the other man said, holding out a hand. “Not to interrupt.” He looked amused.
“Tara Wharton,” she said, shaking his hand. “You have a remarkable operation from what I’ve seen.”
“Glad you think so. Maybe you could convince this guy.” He motioned at Dylan.
“Tweak your specs and I’ll be sold,” Dylan said.
Jeb shook his head. The two seemed amiably annoyed with each other.
“Soon as I finish showing Ms. Wharton around, I’m taking off,” Matt said to Jeb. “It’s another ultrasound.”
“If it’s necessary,” Jeb said tersely.
“It is.” Matt blushed furiously, clearly nervous that he’d displeased his boss. “This way,” he said to her, striding quickly away.
She hurried to join him near a car with its hood up. “This is where we install batteries for test runs,” he said, glancing at his watch. A tech bolted in a battery, while another checked dials on a machine.
Matt was clearly eager to leave, and she wanted to return to the building to speak with the key managers. “I should head back, if that’s okay,” she said. “You need to get going, too, right? The ultrasound?”
